At least a year, I suppose.
I throw my new sheets and towels into the washer, put away my groceries, and get my place organized. I put on some music and hum as I work, and I think as I hum.
I think through the plan with Maverick.
I think through the best way to handle him.
I need to do a little research. I don’t know much about him at all other than what came up on the headlines when I searched him earlier.
I know I have full rein, but I don’t want to piss him off further on day one. I want him to see me as an ally, though I know it’s going to take a hell of a lot of work to get there.
His first team meetings start at seven in the morning most days, and he likely has treatment and breakfast ahead of those meetings. I think we’ll need to touch base each morning at the very least to go over the strategy for the day. We’ll start daily with a quick check-in and any necessary coaching for theday’s media coverage, charity events, meetings, that sort of thing.
As I glance through his schedule, it looks like his days are packed pretty full at the practice facility, but there are breaks built in—time to get into gear for practice, a bit of time after lunch. They’re short windows but enough to have a quick one-on-one to review headlines, discuss social media, coordinate events, and strategize. We could even meet over lunch, but I think it’s more important for him to eat with his teammates since that should be bonding time.
So that leaves me with evenings. It looks like he will generally leave the practice facility between five and six each night provided he doesn’t have additional responsibilities, so we can touch base from six until whenever each night.
I need to set boundaries, and I think it’s important he does, too.
I jot down a few notes so I don’t forget anything I came up with during my humming-slash-work session, and then I grab the cart to return it to Milton.
I don’t think twice about exiting my condo. I take the elevator down, thank Milton, and run into my brother, who’s just coming in with his wife and son. We get on the elevator together.
“Where are you three coming from?” I ask.
“Not Dad’s lounge,” Dex quips, and then his eyes widen a little.
“Dad’s lounge?” I echo. “Dad has a lounge here in Vegas?”
He clears his throat. “Yeah. It’s a VIP place. He tried to rope me into helping him run it, and I did for a while, but I’m out now.” He shakes his head. “It’s kind of a running joke between Ains and me. I’m not sure why those words slipped out. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
“I want to know more.”
The elevator opens and lets me off on my floor, and Dex pushes the button to close the doors before he has to tell me more. I roll my eyes. I guess I’ll just ask my father myself.
I’m sliding my keys into my door when Maverick exits his condo.
He stares at me, and it’s unnerving.
“Did the workout help?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes at me. “How’d you know I worked out?”
“I could hear your treadmill through the wall.” I shrug. Maybe I should be embarrassed, but I’m not.
“Did you hear anything else?” he asks, and for a moment, I wonder if he had a woman in there with him. I’m not sure why that’s the particular thought that crosses my mind. It’s none of my business what he does in his spare time.
Actually…that’s not true.Everythinghe does is my business. Including who he’s sleeping with. That’s part of his image, too. Right?
I can see why he hates me. But he’s been pretty aggressive toward me, too—like telling Jack that I hit on him.
I’m still not over that one. I may never be.
But I have to act like I am, or none of this is ever going to work.
“I wasn’t listening. I was getting my own place set up.”
He holds up both hands. “Don’t let me stop you.” He walks toward the elevator to press the button, but before he does, my voice stops him.
